


Insatiable

by FreeShavocadoo



Category: Bleach
Genre: Introspection, Kind of weird dynamics, M/M, Slight fluff, Unconventional, mild Dom/sub themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-27
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-07-18 08:23:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16114562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreeShavocadoo/pseuds/FreeShavocadoo
Summary: Ulquiorra can't seem to shake Grimmjow Jaegerjaques, no matter how hard he tries. Perhaps he can learn something from it.





	Insatiable

_There were few things worth genuine curiosity, to Ulquiorra Cifer._

_Most of the wasteland the hollows, arrancar and espada called home was desolate and void. The black sky seemed to span endlessly with the sand, moonlight as cold and unforgiving as it was relentless. There was a certain restlessness even Ulquiorra couldn’t shake when there were no missions to be carried out, no duties to be fulfilled. It was like an itch crawling up his spine, around his neck and down his throat. It was hard to satisfy a hunger you insisted wasn’t present. The other espada tended to deal with this in their own petulant ways, none of which seemed to appeal nor satisfy Ulquiorra, content to sit and meditate rather than waste his breath on pointless activity. It was to this particular end that he finds himself watching the object of his curiosity once more from the window of his room, quiet and calculating._

_Grimmjow Jaegerjaques._

_The man was as infuriating as he was enigmatic. Whilst carefree regarding his duties, he had a raging temper that would match Yammy’s, to such a degree that Ulquiorra had assumed that his aspect of death was ‘rage’ from the beginning. He lacked respect for nearly everyone, only acting under the guise of respect in front of Aizen to avoid further conflict, just as fast to discard the honorifics when he wasn’t around as he was to avoid them entirely with everyone else on a regular basis. The demeanour was ever changing, though his bloodthirst for battle remained constant, despising the thought of ever being looked down upon._

_Ironic, Ulquiorra thinks, for someone with a 6 on his lower back._

_It was another insatiable urge, the urge to provide assertion that Grimmjow was in fact below someone. Nnoitra was fast to attempt to assert a façade of dominance over those stupid enough to listen yet Ulquiorra finds the attempt pitiful, with Nnoitra’s speeches seeming more like a disguise to receive validation than to truly show power or dominion. As if that creature could ever provide what Grimmjow truly needed. To be controlled, to be possessed and to truly feel powerless. It’s not likely that any of the other Espada were likely to offer such a thing and in Ulquiorra’s opinion, Grimmjow’s temper left unchecked was a hinderance to everyone. It would practically be providing a miracle for everyone, to leave Grimmjow sated of his appetite to devour everything whole in order to leave naught but destruction in his wake. With that in mind, his sonido gives him the adequate speed to appear before Grimmjow, who seems to be stalking around Las Noches seeking a fight._

_“Trash,” he says, melancholic eyes landing on Grimmjow with what could only be described as distaste, “what are you doing?”_

_“Minding my own fucking business, unlike you.” Grimmjow stares, like a cat with raised hackles his eyes narrow and his back straightens. “What are you doing?”_

_“Watching you, of course.” Ulquiorra’s eyes flicker to hanging fabric of Grimmjow’s left jacket sleeve, absent an arm._

_Trash, he thinks, this is what you get for disobeying orders._

_“I didn’t realise you were demoted to being Aizen-sama’s eyes now.” Grimmjow sneers, still cutting an impressive figure regardless of the absence of his left arm. His eyes remain narrowed, however, unwavering in their position on Ulquiorra as if he suspects some form of attack is imminent._

_“Of course you revert to petulant insults to avoid further conversation, especially when the conversation is about how much of an incompetent fool you are.” Ulquiorra keeps his hands tucked into his pockets, not concerned about the prospect of an attack from Grimmjow even if it was a strong possibility, aware that even at his best Grimmjow only poses a minor threat to him._

_“Get the fuck out of my way.” The tone of Grimmjow’s voice has a certain finality to it, one that makes Ulquiorra certain he’s itching for a fight. The itch begins to creep up Ulquiorra’s spine again, begging to be scratched._

_“You didn’t pose any threat to me with two arms, trash,” Ulquiorra is in front of Grimmjow before the latter has time to blink, cerulean eyes widening a fraction, “so what makes you think you’re adequate now?”_

_“We’ll see about that.” Grimmjow’s voice is rising steadily, his reiatsu flaring dangerously as if one more comment will send him from teetering on the edge right into the abyss._

_Good. He deserves to feel nothingness just like I do._

_Grimmjow’s entire body lunges forward with formidable force, his right arm outstretched as his fingers miss Ulquiorra’s neck by a fraction, too slow to manage grasping when Ulquiorra utilises his sonido, always one step ahead. Always undeterred in his attempt to destruct everything, Grimmjow moves forward again, flashing behind Ulquiorra this time in an attempt to surprise him, as though Ulquiorra can’t sense the vaguest flickers in Grimmjow’s reiatsu in his sleep by this point he’s so accustomed to it._

_“I told you,” Ulquiorra’s pale hand reaches out, fingers curled around Grimmjow’s neck, pinning him against the wall, “you are no match for me.”_

_“Like hell.” Grimmjow’s neck muscles seem to be straining against Ulquiorra’s grip, his eyes narrowed and his right hand coming up to grip Ulquiorra’s wrist._

_A fruitless attempt._

_Part of Ulquiorra toys with the thought of using his cero here and now, point blank. There would be few ways Grimmjow could avoid that and it would avoid the uncomfortable nature of Ulquiorra’s instincts around the insufferable sexta espada, caught between wanting to fight him just to have something to distract him and to kill him just to avoid further curiosities. Yet still, the lingering pulse thrumming under his fingertips stills his thoughts, even just for a mere second._

_Then, Grimmjow disappears, the warmth from his skin still spread across Ulquiorra’s palm._

_He won’t get away next time._

* * *

 

 

The reiatsu is unmistakable, raw and unbridled, seemingly swallowing everything else in the nearby vicinity. Briefly, Ulquiorra wonders what exactly lead Grimmjow to the lengths where he is a step away from releasing his sword over some Shinigami, though the presence of one more person has him questioning the circumstances of the situation. As soon as his eyes land upon Grimmjow, however, he is left wondering no more. He’s bloody all over, the absence of his left arm clearly now an unavoidable hinderance when faced with his current opponent, Shinji Hirako. It’s clear he’d made fast work of both Ichigo Kurosaki and Rukia Kuchiki, yet here he stands on the brink of using his release to fight the ambiguous assailant.

Pathetic.

“Our mission is over.” Ulquiorra grabs Grimmjow’s hand, a hand currently trembling with rage.

What Ulquiorra doesn’t expect is Grimmjow’s immediate compliance, stepping backwards to Ulquiorra’s side without so much as a second glance. He looks as dishevelled as Ulquiorra has ever seen him, though now he looked unconcerned and relatively at ease as he grins at Ichigo.

“This isn’t over, Shinigami.”

Ulquiorra wonders if he’ll be the death of Grimmjow, or if Ichigo Kurosaki will. He’s not sure which thought is more unsettling.

The journey back to Las Noches is an uneventful one, with Grimmjow staying uncharacteristically quiet, though he’s more brooding than usual. Instead of being berated for his stupidity or punished, Grimmjow is instead gifted with being the demonstration of Orihime Inoue’s abilities, finding himself with his left arm once more. Ulquiorra supposes he should find the entire display irritating, that Grimmjow time and time again avoids adequate punishment for his behaviour. Yet the prospect of engaging in a fight with him once more at his full strength may incite what he supposes is excitement in himself.

Then, as if the universe is laughing at him, Grimmjow’s hand impales Luppi’s chest, his laughter manical and his eyes swimming with boundless emotion. It’s almost intoxicating, Ulquiorra thinks, to see someone experience so much emotion when he himself can feel so very little.

_Perhaps this is penance._

 

* * *

 

 

Caja Negacion was a sneaky trick, Ulquiorra thinks, yet he can’t help but be moderately impressed by Grimmjow’s insistence to avoid listening and doing what he’s told. It doesn’t stop his fingers from twitching just from being in close proximity to Grimmjow once more, behind closed doors.

He wonders if anyone else has ever thought about this. The sight of a man with nothing but rage suddenly compliant, with hesitance in his eyes and no grin on his face. Ulquiorra takes a moment to just run his fingers over the scar covering the majority of Grimmjow’s chest, revelling in the roughened texture and warmth under his fingertips. As if reacting to the delicate touches, Grimmjow’s head falls back onto the pillow and a soft sigh escapes his lips, even as his eyebrows furrow. Though his hands move up to grab Ulquiorra’s wrists, they make no movements to still Ulquiorra’s hands, as if Grimmjow needs to pretend like he’s attempting to stop this to be able to enjoy it. When Ulquiorra’s fingers dance near the edge of the remnants of Grimmjow’s hollow mask, the low thrum of purring is unmistakable, Ulquiorra can feel it both from his seated position straddling Grimmjow’s waist and under the palm of his other hand. The intensity increases as Ulquiorra’s touches become more brazen, Grimmjow’s entire chest and throat seeming to vibrate uncontrollably.

“So receptive,” Ulquiorra comments, delicately running a finger over Grimmjow’s eye markings as his eyes flutter shut, “so loud.”

“Shut up.” Grimmjow growls, though there seems to be no malice behind it, his head lifting up from the pillow momentarily to glare.

He’s certain that neither of them would be able to explain the beginnings of such an arrangement. They had always teetered on the edge of something, with an inexplicable pull to one another at the same time. Such a dynamic meant that there was as much push as there was pull. Whilst Ulquiorra was curious, especially when it came to Grimmjow’s vast array of emotions in comparison to his own, he also immensely disliked Grimmjow’s disregard for rules and regulations. Grimmjow enjoyed the fight, the imminence of destruction so he too allowed Ulquiorra to be curious as he too was interested. He, however, tended to border both between lashing out and complete submission. Ulquiorra supposes it suits them both well enough, constant shifts mean they cannot get so used to the ground beneath their feet that once it’s snatched from beneath them, they can only fall.

“Do you hate me?” Ulquiorra asks, genuine in his curiosity. He removes his hand from Grimmjow’s cheek and the purring ceases, the room now eerily silent.

“Huh?” Grimmjow blinks, as though he’s only just readjusting to reality. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, _trash_ , do you hate me?” He asks once more, running his finger across Grimmjow’s throat. When he runs his nail in a circle pattern on Grimmjow’s sternum, he is reminded of Grimmjow’s assertion that he tended to impale those he found interesting in the exact spot of his own hollow hole. Grimmjow’s eyes follow him closely, though the absence of his usual scowl makes it look more like an expression of relaxation above anything else.

“You’re not worth hating.” Grimmjow replies, tilting his head back once more to stare at the ceiling. “True hate requires more effort, it requires me to feel it in every fibre of my being. You’re not worth that amount of effort and I wouldn’t have the motivation to pretend otherwise, _asshole_.”

“Interesting,” Ulquiorra stares thoughtfully, leaning down and brushing his lips over Grimmjow’s sternum, fully aware he is yet again mirroring the location of his own hollow hole but caring very little when Grimmjow sighs almost silently, “you imply that you don’t feel something for me with every fibre of your being.”

Ulquiorra’s mouth moves upwards, marking along Grimmjow’s neck with bites that were hardly gentle, yet Grimmjow’s fingers lace into his hair and push his head closer, as if he’s scared that Ulquiorra will stop. Though he debates the notion, he realises that to do so would require that he also loses the pleasure he gets from the act, which is something he is hesitant to do.

“You’re the one who came into _my_ room and started touching _me_.” Grimmjow growls once more, sitting upright and attempting to pin Ulquiorra down under his weight. Though Ulquiorra concedes for a moment, he smiles at the last second and flips Grimmjow over onto his back once more, holding his wrists down.

“Foolish.” He says, shaking his head with a bemused expression. “You try and you try and yet still, in the end, you always submit.”

“ _Bullshit_.” Grimmjow attempts to move upwards, yet even considering Ulquiorra’s weight disadvantage, remains pinned underneath him. This seems to aggravate him further as he begins to writhe violently in an attempt to push Ulquiorra from his lap.

“Stop.” Ulquiorra commands, his reiatsu rising suddenly. Grimmjow stops almost instantaneously. Perhaps the power does rush to Ulquiorra’s head in a way he doesn’t expect, even if he would never admit it.

“Tell me what a heart is.”

“Somethin’ you stab people in to kill them?” Grimmjow groans, both uncomfortable at being cut off and asked such a random question.

Ulquiorra pauses to consider the answer, eyebrows furrowed. Grimmjow almost finds it endearing.

“But why do humans talk of it so much?” He ponders, biting his lip. “I don’t understand.”

“Because they’re fuckin’ stupid.” Grimmjow sighs, sitting upright and rendering Ulquiorra’s placement above him useless as he rolls to sit in front of the man instead. “They mean emotionally.”

Ulquiorra nods slowly. “How so?”

“When they say someone has their heart, they mean that they’re in _love_.” Grimmjow growls, irritated by how quickly the conversation has moved away from him and onto something he has zero interest in. It was hard to be interested in much after having Ulquiorra’s hands all over him.

“Are you in love?” Ulquiorra asks, Grimmjow making a choked noise in the back of his throat, “Am _I_ in love?”

“Like fuck if I know!” Grimmjow rolls off the bed, suitably ruffled and pissed, but even more worryingly, confused.

Ulquiorra seems to take little notice, tracing over the area of note, where his heart is, as though it brings him some semblance of peace or tranquillity. Grimmjow isn’t sure if it’s laughable or slightly sad, that a man so stoic is so hung up on a notion so laughably _human_. Personally, Grimmjow was more content to destruct everything in his path to get a strong rush, to feel close to something, even if he had to self-destruct. Thinking about something so trivial, so open, is hardly something he ever wanted to do.

“Yeah I guess I’m in love.” Grimmjow says, with an attempted edge of nonchalance as he stares out of the small window, chin upright. “Not that we know what love is.”

“Then how do you know you’re in love?” Ulquiorra’s voice is soft behind him, his arms sneaking around Grimmjow’s waist with ease as he rests his chin on Grimmjow’s shoulder.

“Instinct.” Grimmjow’s tone leaves little room for alternatives and this seems to please Ulquiorra, who turns Grimmjow’s chin for a kiss, more gentle than their usual kisses and much slower. It makes Grimmjow uncertain, but in a good way.

“Then I suppose I love you too.” Ulquiorra muses, nuzzling his head into Grimmjow’s neck. “Trash.”

“I never said it was _you_ that I loved.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, short and sweet. Hopefully it's good (:


End file.
